The Forest of Autumn
by Hermione.the.Evenstar
Summary: This is an Imagine story- picture yourself in the position of main character :) You're a female Ranger of the North. One day, while out in the forest, you encounter a pack of Orc attacking a stranger. When you step in to help, you have no idea that that small move will change things forever. Oneshot. Not much, but hope you enjoy :)


**Hey guys, **

**So this is a quick romantic one-shot Imagine, just to make up for the fact that I'm feeling really guilty about not updating my other story- don't worry, it will come eventually, but I've been really busy lately... anyway, this is kind of my first romance fic, so don't judge XD **

**Please review!**

It's autumn; the trees around you are turning a rusty shade of red, and the fallen leaves crunch and crackle under your bare feet. This is the part of the forest you know off by heart, and the rough path that weaves up the side of the hill is as familiar to you as the lines on the back of your hand. It's quieter than usual among the darkening trees. You have the strangest sensation that something isn't quite right- maybe it's the fact that no birds are singing, or that an inexplicable apprehension is creeping steadily through your body... And then you hear it.

A roar of pain, quickly muffled. A crash and a rustling in the trees not too far away from where you're standing; you straighten slowly, careful not to snap any twigs, and silently draw your bow. Padding swiftly through the trees, you make no sound, every muscle tensed, every sense engaged, and you follow the rustling noise until you hear the unmistakeable harsh breathing of an Orc. You freeze. In a clearing in the trees in front of you are a pack of six, maybe seven Orc, crowding a small, struggling figure that's pinned to the ground and bleeding profusely.

"Once we kill you," hisses an Orc with a scar running the length of its body, "Who can stop us coming for your brother? The line will be gone forever."

He raises his twisted blade and the pack lick their black lips and the figure writhes helplessly underfoot- and then an arrow hits the back of the Orc's head and it falls lifeless to the ground, its blade clattering harmlessly beside it. Another one goes down, and another one; snarling, the others look around for the source of the arrows, and as you step into the clearing, you replace your bow for the sword that's lying at your hip. You're ready to fight. Three Orc versus you? Kind of unfair, you think. For them. You take a breath, and as they converge on you, you slash and twirl around them, your blade hacking and stabbing and you don't know what you hit but your vision tunnels and yet expands, and you're focused on nothing but staying alive, and the adrenalin rushes through your veins- and then you stop spinning abruptly, because you're not hitting anything anymore. You look down, and see that you're standing atop a pile of dead Orc, and for a while you stay exactly as you are, not moving, not taking anything in.

Then you feel a pair of eyes on you- and looking around, you see the stranger staring at you, an expression of wonder on his face. He's a dwarf- that's all you can tell from his current appearance. He's soaked in blood; and when he opens his mouth to say something, he collapses before he utters a sound. You run to where he's lying, and scoop him up with difficulty. Staggering, you carry him to the side of the stream that's just through the trees, and, setting him down, begin to gently bathe his wounds. You become consumed in your work, your fingers busy, pressing herbs against his cuts and wrapping fern fronds around them like your mother taught you, muttering incantations under your breath. Finally you finish tending to him, and look up to find that his eyes are open and he's gazing at you with the same expression of wonder, yet this time it's tinged with something that you don't quite catch. He opens his mouth to say something again, but this time you rest your fingers against his mouth.

"Shhh," you say softly. "Lie still."

He smiles, and his smile reminds you of the way the sun comes out from behind a cloud. You smile back and wipe a smear of blood from his cheek.

"Who...are you?" He whispers, his voice cracked.

"No one special." You say. "You're lucky you're not dead."

He looks at you intently. His eyes, you notice, are a piercing blue, clear and still as the high note of a violin. "I think-" he says slowly, "I think you're someone very special."

You stop washing your blade and turn to look at him. He smiles and continues, "I would like very much to know your name."

"My...my name?" You feel yourself blushing and scold yourself for showing such weakness.

"Yes." He raises his eyebrows. "You did save my life, after all."

You grin and say teasingly, 'I think you're going to have to earn that privilege- I don't give my name to just anybody."

He looks taken aback for a split second, then says, "What must I do to earn it? I am already in your debt."

"Saving your life? That was nothing. I detest the Orcs."

"As do I," he says bitterly. "They killed three of my friends."

"I'm sorry." You sit down beside him. "How many were there?"

"Around twenty."

"Wow...you killed thirteen Orc before they took you?"

He nodded.

"But I was not alone. You, however... you were beyond anything I've ever seen before. You fight better than any man I know. Like a demon. Or-" He says, his tone turning serious, "like an angel. You are beautiful when you fight." He sits up slowly. His gaze is fixed on yours, and his eyes draw you in like an endless ocean.

"It takes an angel to see an angel in another person." You say quietly.

You sit down beside him, and take your first real look at the dwarf you saved. He's gorgeous. Honey-coloured hair that's tousled and textured; blue, blue eyes; and carved features that ought to belong to a statue. You clear your throat abruptly. "Here...let me wash your clothes. They're filthy." You avert your gaze as he removes his shirt and hands it to you. His tanned skin is smooth as honey spilled on a table. He catches you staring and smirks.

"I would prefer not to give you my trousers," he says, grinning.

"Fine by me," you say indifferently, feeling the blood rush to your face. You take his shirt to the river and scrub the thick caking of grime off, feeling his eyes upon you the entire time. Suddenly you gasp, staring in shock at the shirt in your hand. Embroidered in a silver thread upon the front of the shirt is a familiar dwarvish rune... and then you realise why he looks so familiar. You turn slowly to face him.

"You're Fili. Heir of Thorin Oakenshield. Next in the Line of Durin."

He bows his head.

You continue to stare at him in astonishment.

"Oh."

He takes a breath, and says almost pleadingly, "Don't... don't let that change your opinion of me."

"But-"

"Don't."

He's on his feet, and grabs your hand, turning you to face him. "Please, I don't want you to treat me differently. I don't know you, I don't know your name, but I know that you are the most beautiful, bravest, most incredible woman I've ever met. I'm already under your spell. And I don't want anything to change that."

"Actually," you say, "I was going to tell you that it won't. It won't change my opinion of you. I've always thought you were beautiful, and brave- I didn't need to know that you were a prince to think that. It doesn't change a thing." You take his hand and squeeze it softly. He hesitates for a moment, then says quietly,

"Could you help me put my shirt on? It's cold."

You raise your eyes to his, and his expression is unreadable.

Slowly, you pull the shirt over his head, accidentally brushing your fingers against his bare skin; you feel him draw in a sharp breath at your touch. You look up at him, your hands on his back, and find that his face is inches from yours- and then he inexplicably leans in and touches your lips with his own, as soft and gentle as a butterfly brushing a flower. He draws back; you search his face as he says, "Thank you." He leans forward again and then stops, his eyes asking a question- you whisper your name. "Thank you, y/n." He smiles that beautiful smile and touches his forehead to yours. You close your eyes, your breath tumbling in your throat; and this time as his warm mouth closes around your own, he moves his hands to your shoulders, and you wind his tangled hair in your fingers and open your mouth and lean into him. A shivering glow enters your body, you can feel it spreading though your veins; you're lost in an embrace that seems to go on and on, without the need to speak or breathe or move. And as you kiss Fili under the fading autumn sky, you can feel his smile play under your lips. And you realise suddenly that this is what it must feel like to be in love.


End file.
